


Another Day

by ClaraxBarton



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, D/s, Explicit Consent, Kink, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Stripping, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-29 01:04:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17798147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/pseuds/ClaraxBarton
Summary: It wasn’t that Clint thought of himself as unattractive. Diet of pizza and coffee aside, he took care of himself and worked out, and he knew that he had a look - a scruffy, built, older guy look - that did things for some people. And sure, he had hoped that Bucky was one of those people who liked older, buff men and wanted to be bossed around, but he had never actually assumed Bucky would be into that.That they had both spent the last four years cultivating fantasies starring each other was, really, exactly Clint’s typical luck.They could have spent the last four years fucking, but no.It had taken Natasha hiring Bucky to strip for Clint.





	Another Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [luvsanime02](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luvsanime02/gifts), [Kangofu_CB](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kangofu_CB/gifts).



> As always, thanks to Ro for beta reading and being amazing.  
> And thank you to CB, who is always there for me and is stupidly good to me.
> 
> \----  
> \----  
> \----

 

The thing about Valentine’s Day was that it was stupid.

 

The other thing about Valentine’s Day was that it was cruel.

 

The  _ other _ , other thing about Valentine’s Day was that it was revolting.

 

The  _ other, other, _ other thing about Valentine’s Day was that it was completely unnecessary.

 

Clint didn’t even care that the “holiday” was engineered to feed into the late-stage capitalist consumerism as therapy and identity culture of the world he lived in. He didn’t even  _ care _ that he hadn’t gotten a Valentine’s Day card or gift since the third grade, the last February he had spent at home with his parents before his father fucked off and killed both himself and Clint’s mother in a drunk driving accident.

 

What Clint  _ did _ care about was the fact that he had a fucking metric shit-ton of American History to teach, and he did  _ not have time _ for Valentine’s Day to wreck havoc with the fragile and oppressive hormones of his teenage students.

 

Every year, it was a goddamn disaster, and every year, Clint forgot about February 14th until the morning of the damned day, and Every. Single. Year., he wished he had the foresight to call in sick before he got to the teacher’s lounge for his third cup of coffee of the morning and saw the giant calendar on the wall. Beside the calendar was the  _ Chart of Broken Hearts, _ as Sam Wilson, asshole and angel wrapped up into one Math teacher, called it.

 

Casualties were always high - at least for Clint, who seemed to somehow attract lovelorn disaster students to his (required) history classes and the upper level elective history classes he taught like… moths to a bight, painful, burning flame. 

 

It was bad for Clint, who usually had to excuse at least six students with broken hearts, comfort another four, and track down another two to seven when they fled the class after  _ not _ getting candy or flowers or whatever the hell the Homecoming Committee was torturing students with that year.

 

It was worse for Steve Rogers, the art teacher who looked like da Vinci’s wet dream come to life, and who had all of the temperamental artist types flocking to him with their every woe.

 

But it was the  _ worst _ for Tony Stark, the physics and chemistry teacher who the nerds and geeks worshipped and feared.  _ His _ kids were utter, total disasters in ways that even Clint’s didn’t manage to be, and at least Steve’s seemed to have some kind of emotional intelligence. 

 

Only Natasha Romanov, the other history teacher, and Bucky Barnes, one of the English/Lit teachers, didn’t seem to have a problem with heartbroken students.

 

Maybe that was because Natasha had a strict ‘no patron Saint of the Plague garbage crosses this threshold’ rule, and had also started teaching after-school self-defense classes when the head cheerleader’s (now ex) boyfriend hadn’t quite understood the nuance of ‘no, I don’t want to have sex’ until the girl punched him in the throat just as Ms. Romanov had taught her to do. After that, Natasha’s Guide to Romance and Kicking Ass Class - again titled by Sam - had been in high demand.

 

Barnes was the wild card, though. Like Steve - hell, like  _ most _ of Clint’s colleagues - he was weirdly, unfairly attractive. Also like Steve, he didn’t project murder (like Natasha), Sass or Death only (like Sam), or equations only, please (like Tony). So Clint was confused about how and just why Bucky never had a lengthy tally of victims to write on the scorecard at the end of the day.

 

Not once, in the four years that Barnes had been teaching at the high school, had he written a single name on the chart.

 

Clint didn’t get it. Not that he particularly liked to acknowledge or deal with emotions - his or anyone else’s - but if  _ he _ was a broken-hearted teenager, Barnes would be first on his list of teachers whose shoulder he would dream of crying on. Because Barnes had gorgeous shoulders. So broad compared to his narrow waist. And his  _ hair _ smelled so good, and-

 

The point was that Clint thought the students were idiots for forcing their woes on Tony, Steve and himself when Bucky Barnes was  _ right there _ to act as prince charming.

 

When, at long last, the annual day from hell ended and the faculty dropped by the lounge to collect mail and head out for the day, Clint and Steve had tied with eighteen casualties, Sam had a rather high eleven, Natasha and Bucky both claimed zero while Bruce, the biology teacher, reported three with a distressed sigh. Tony, however, glumly finished writing down  _ twenty-five names _ and glared at everyone who stared at him in disbelief.

 

“We will never, ever speak of what happened in third period Advanced Physics. Ever,” Tony told them all, dark gaze fierce.

 

Steve’s mouth worked as he tried to suppress a smirk, but he was a smart man and clearly wanted to get laid in the future, so he manfully kept his face neutral and picked up Tony’s travel mug for him.

 

They left leaning against each other, but not holding hands because Fury, the Principal, and Hill, the Vice Principal To Be Feared Above All Others, had given a very pointed lecture about public affection between staff during the start-of-year workshops in August that everyone knew had been aimed at those two.

 

Barnes was still in the lounge nursing a mug of coffee, with a scowl and a stack of papers that looked like they were bleeding. Natasha was at the table with him, legs stretched out and resting on the seat opposite her, reading something on her iPad and presumably waiting for Sam to finish his after-school tutoring before they went home and fucked like the beautiful rabbits they were.

 

Clint contemplated the essays in his bag and the empty seat beside Barnes.

 

He  _ could _ sit there and grade, spend an hour or three beside Bucky and maybe get to smell his hair again, maybe offer up some comment that would make Bucky smile and-

 

Natasha looked over at Clint and smirked, as though she could read his pathetic mind. Clint glared back at her.

 

“Any plans tonight?” she asked, the question maybe directed at Clint, maybe at Barnes.

 

“Never have plans for this crapfest,” Clint groused, and went to the coffee pot to finish off whatever was in it and continue his debate over just how desperate he was to sit beside Bucky versus having Natasha give him shit for his stupid one-sided crush on the other teacher.

 

“Work,” Bucky growled, not looking up as he circled something angrily and started to write a comment in the margin of the paper with enough irritation in his posture and speed to his writing that Clint wondered if the paper itself would physically survive the assault.

 

Natasha made a sound that could perhaps be sympathetic if not for the fact that she was smirking while she did it.

 

Clint rolled his eyes at her.

 

Sam walked into the lounge while Clint stirred too much sugar into his coffee, distracted by the way the light from the setting sun turned Bucky’s hair kind of red and gold.

 

“Ready to blow this joint?” Sam asked her, somehow not sounding as lame as he should have.

 

Natasha rose to her feet in one smooth, graceful motion and packed away her things.

 

“You two boys try to have  _ some _ fun tonight,” she said to them as she walked over to Sam and put her hand into his.

 

No one, not even Fury, had had the gall to tell Natasha  _ she _ couldn’t publicly display affection with another staff member. Clint was pretty sure that Hill, who was afraid of literally no one, was probably in some kind of secret cult of badass women with Natasha, and so also let it slide.

 

Alone with Bucky, Clint sipped on his coffee and contemplated that empty seat.

 

“You aren’t taking your boyfriend out tonight?” Bucky asked, not even looking up from making another angry comment.

 

Clint choked on his coffee, and Bucky actually turned to look at him, eyebrows raised in concern.

 

“My- my  _ boyfriend _ ?”

 

Bucky nodded.

 

“Natasha told me you met someone over the winter break.”

 

“Oh.  _ Oh _ . Lance. Yeah.”

 

“Lance?” Bucky repeated the name, his judgement clear.

 

“Yes,  _ Bucky _ , his name was Lance. But we- I dunno. We didn’t really have much in common except for… uh,” Clint waved a hand awkwardly, “grown-up things.”

 

He flushed, feeling like an idiot, even more so when Bucky snorted a laugh.

 

But they were on school property - in fact, the lounge door was cracked open. Anyone, including students, could walk past and hear Clint. He was definitely not going to talk about how he and  _ Lance _ had had nine really great hookups in January, all of which had involved almost zero talking except for Lance’s begging and cries of ‘ _ Harder, Daddy _ ’.

 

So, no, Clint was just going to let himself be embarrassed and call it ‘grown-up things’, and not ever go into details about it with Bucky.

 

Because Bucky, nine years younger than Clint, lean and handsome and confident, would undoubtedly find the idea of anyone interacting with Clint like that laughable at the very least.

 

“So… you two aren’t still dating?” Bucky had gone back to  _ carving _ more words into the paper in front of him.

 

“Uh, no. Definitely not. Dunno if we were ever really  _ dating _ to begin with,” Clint shrugged. He refused to feel sorry for himself. Well, refused to do it in front of someone else. Especially Bucky.

 

Bucky, who sighed, leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms far enough over his head that his sweater rode up to reveal a stretch of his pale, taut belly above the waistband of his corduroy trousers. Clint’s mouth went completely, painfully dry. 

 

“Then Lance was as much of an idiot as his name makes him sound,” Bucky muttered.

 

Clint was too taken aback by the words and Bucky’s tone to realize that Bucky was packing up his stuff until the other man was standing and shouldering his beat-up leather messenger bag.

 

“Oh.” 

 

Bucky’s lips twitched at Clint’s eloquence.

 

“See you tomorrow?” Bucky asked as he rinsed his mug out in the sink.

 

“Same Bat Time, same Bat Channel,” Clint responded.

 

Bucky grinned, flashing his elusive dimple at Clint, and then left.

 

Alone, Clint sighed and slurped down the disgustingly sweet coffee in his mug.

 

Oh well. Another night at home, alone, grading and watching  _ The Great British Bake Off _ .

 

-o-

 

By nine that night, Clint had finished grading - or, at least, had reached his  _ limit _ for grading - demolished a pizza, and finished the last available season of  _ GBBO _ . 

 

He was idly clicking through his Amazon account on the TV, trying to find something that intrigued him even a little, when someone knocked on his apartment door.

 

Clint frowned and glanced at the empty pizza box on his coffee table from the delivery forty minutes ago. He had, on occasion, mistakenly ordered a pizza from one place, promptly forgotten that he had, and then ordered one from another place half an hour later. But he was pretty sure he hadn’t done that this time.

 

Still, Clint grabbed his wallet from the kitchen counter and pulled out some cash for a tip and opened his front door.

 

It was not a pizza delivery.

 

It was- it was  _ Bucky. _

 

But not looking like Clint had ever seen him before. 

 

Their school was, on the whole, pretty lax about staff dress codes, as Clint had discovered by skirting that line for his entire twelve-year career at the Academy. Jeans weren’t exactly approved, but Clint, Tony and Sam both more or less lived in theirs, and had never been reprimanded. Natasha went the route of ‘dressed to kill, literally’, while Steve wore clothes that made it look like he was on his way to star in  _ Our Town _ after school every day. Bucky lived in that sweet spot between Natasha and Clint’s fashion choices, wearing whatever equivalent to slightly-conforming grown-up hipster clothes could be called.

 

So Bucky always looked good - really, really good.

 

But he didn’t show up at school or any school functions in a fitted black suit and a tight black dress shirt. Definitely didn’t show up with his hair looking like it had just been styled for a photoshoot, wavy and loose and just brushing his shoulders. And, Clint was almost one-hundred percent certain, never, ever came to school wearing eye-makeup or lipstick. 

 

Because he certainly was  _ now _ . Bucky had amazing eyes, pale and intense and luminous, but right now, there was dark, smoky charcoal lining around them, and definitely mascara on his already long and full lashes. And his  _ lips _ , already sinfully full and plum-colored, were red and just a little bit glossy, as if Bucky had been sucking his lip between his teeth or getting his face fucked for the last half-hour.

 

And  _ that _ terrifically inappropriate thought about a work colleague brought Clint back to reality.

 

The reality of him standing in his own doorway wearing the t-shirt and sweatpants he had changed into after his post-work workout and shower, staring at Bucky like a goddamn idiot.

 

“Uh. Hi.” 

 

Bucky stared at Clint.

 

“What are you doing here?” Bucky hissed at him.

 

“I live here?” Clint hadn’t meant it to sound like a question, but the scandalized look Bucky was giving him had Clint wondering if he had done something horribly wrong.

 

“No,” Bucky groaned.

 

“Yes? Do you want to see my lease agreement?”

 

Bucky groaned again.

 

“I’m gonna kill her,” he muttered.

 

“Who?” Clint asked. He felt like there was a lot going on right now that he had no clue about and- well, that was pretty much par for the course, but still.

 

“Natasha,” Bucky muttered darkly.

 

Clint sucked in a breath.

 

“I’d advise against trying. I’m pretty sure she’s secretly a CIA covert ops something, and is just using this whole high school history teacher thing as an elaborate cover identity. And you’re way too pretty to die.”

 

Bucky stared at him again, and Clint’s brain processed the words he had just vomited.

 

Yep. Well. That was out there in the world now.

 

Bucky’s lips twitched.

 

“I’ll take that into consideration,” he said.

 

“Good,” Clint nodded.

 

They stared at each other.

 

“So, uh… want to come in?” Clint asked, and gestured. “Place is a bit of a mess, but…”

 

“But I’ve met you, and I’ve been to your classroom. I’m prepared,” Bucky said with a smirk, and walked into the apartment.

 

It wasn’t as much of a disaster as it could have been, and after Clint hurriedly shoved the empty pizza box into the kitchen trash can, it wasn’t even really that bad.

 

Bucky smirked at him and sat on the couch when Clint gestured to it.

 

“Something to drink?” Clint asked. “I’ve got beer or… coffee? Or water.”

 

“Beer sounds good,” Bucky assured him as Clint stared into his open refrigerator and realized, not for the first time, that his life was a disaster.

 

Who the fuck  _ only _ had beer, milk, cold-brew, cool whip and cheese sticks in his refrigerator? Clint, that’s who.

 

Clint grabbed two bottles of Corona, removed the caps, and then joined Bucky on the couch, putting a respectable full cushion between them.

 

Bucky took a sip of his beer and then gestured to the pile of papers on the coffee table. Unlike Bucky and Natasha, who seemed to take a certain amount of glee in using red pens to crush their students’ dreams, Clint always used a purple pen when grading. In his mind, it made it slightly less awful when he returned papers drenched in corrections and comments. He had been assured by his students, however, that the purple was just as traumatic, if not more so, than the red.

 

“I just got done grading Parker’s research paper for AP Lit,” he said. “Smart kid.”

 

Clint nodded in agreement.

 

“Yeah, he’s one of Tony’s, though. Such a waste. Kid is really insightful, but now he’s going to waste away curing cancer or making space robots instead of doing something worthwhile like writing poetry or gender theory dissertations.”

 

“Tragic,” Bucky agreed with another smirk. “This is a nice place. I didn’t realize you lived in Bed-Stuy. Kind of a commute to Midtown, isn’t it?”

 

Clint shrugged.

 

“Yeah, but I dunno. I like the Academy and… uh, well, I kind of own the building.”

 

Bucky raised his eyebrows.

 

“How do you kind of own the building?”

 

Clint sighed. It really wasn’t that good of a story, but, well, Bucky had asked. So Clint told him the weird and convoluted tale of Clint taking on the local not-quite-Russian-enough Russian mob, saving the dog that he now shared with a former student, and sort-of winning the building/buying it in a poker game. And the handful of hospital visits and back-alleys fights that had taken place leading up to those events.

 

“Uh huh,” Bucky said when Clint finished with a shrug. He looked a little shell-shocked, which Clint figured was fair.

 

Even  _ he _ marveled, on occasion, at what a dumpster fire his life was.

 

“So, just to make sure I understand,” Bucky tossed back the last drops of his beer and set the empty bottle on the table before turning on the couch to scoot closer to Clint and face him fully, “you took on the Russian mob-”

 

“They aren’t the  _ real _ Bratva,” Clint insisted.

 

“-you took on the  _ Russian mob _ ,” Bucky repeated, “because they were being assholes to your neighbors and almost killed a dog. You put your life in danger multiple times for strangers and a one-eyed dog, and not only did you live, you kicked ass and now you own a building. And a dog half of the time.”

 

“It’s not that big of a deal,” Clint insisted. “Anyone would have done the same thing.”

 

Bucky snorted a derisive laugh.

 

“No, Clint, anyone would  _ not _ have done any of those things. You- you’re something else,” he concluded with a shake of his head and a soft smile.

 

Clint forced himself not to stare.

 

“I-”

 

“If you’re gonna say something shit about yourself, let me stop you right there.”

 

Clint snapped his mouth closed and glared. Bucky’s smile turned into a knowing smirk.

 

“What are you doing here anyway?” Clint finally asked. “I didn’t think you even knew where I lived.”

 

Clint had had some of the staff over before. His building did monthly rooftop potlucks, and Natasha and Sam had come to a few. Steve and Tony had even come to one. But every time Clint made the blanket invitations in the faculty lounge, eyes on Bucky the whole time, Bucky ignored him. And didn’t come.

 

“Oh. Uh. Right.” Bucky’s cheeks turned pink, and he smoothed his hands down the thighs of his tight, black trousers. “Work. I’m here for work.”

 

“Like… you want help coaching the baseball team?” Clint asked, because he could think of literally no other thing Bucky might want help with at work. “Oh. Or you need an extra chaperone on the London trip in June?”

 

Bucky’s cheeks went from pink to scarlet.

 

“No. Not- not that kind of work.” Bucky drew in a deep breath and then slowly let it out. “So, student loans, you know. I’m trying to pay them off before I die, and the Academy pays well and all, but- but anyway, I have a second job. A part-time job.”

 

“Okay. Something to do with Natasha?” Clint asked, thinking back to the bizarre greeting from Bucky when he had first opened his door.

 

“Not- not usually. She, uh, hired me.”

 

And now Clint was back to being completely lost.

 

“Hired you for…?”

 

“You. She hired me for  _ you _ .”

 

“Hired you for me for  _ what _ ?” Clint forced himself to ask, because he had a lot of thoughts and nightmares running through his brain. Beginning with his many, many drunken confessions of being in love with Bucky to Natasha and Sam’s repeated insistences that Clint date more and start seeing a therapist.

 

“Strippergram.”

 

Oh God. 

 

Oh  _ fuck. _

 

No. This- 

 

_ No. _

 

“You- you-  _ What _ ?”

 

Bucky sighed and ducked his head.

 

“I’m a stripper. Natasha hired me to deliver a Valentine’s Day Strippergram to her friend, her friend who hates Valentine’s Day and was going to be lonely and miserable and just needed a little fun tonight. Her words. Not mine.”

 

“Well, she’s not wrong,” Clint had to admit. “But- Jesus  _ fuck _ , Bucky! Oh my  _ god, _ have you ever been hired by a parent? Oh my god, I bet that would make PTA meetings so much worse. Or better? I don’t know.  _ Jesus, _ how awkward.”

 

Bucky’s lips twitched.

 

“I just told you I’m a stripper, and your first concern is me getting hired by a parent?”

 

“Er… should it not be?”

 

Bucky shrugged.

 

“Just surprised that you don’t… care?”

 

“I mean, it’s your life? I- If you’re being safe and people aren’t assholes to you, and you’re paying back your loans… I mean, it’s a job, right?”

 

Bucky stared at him.

 

“How the fuck are you even real, Clint?”

 

“Do you want me to go into the history of scientific realism here, or give you the birds and bees discussion? Because it’s been about seven months since I had to do the whole sex talk thing but-”

 

“Don’t you mean  _ grown-up things _ ?” Bucky corrected with a smirk.

 

“No, I meant kinky things, but- fuck me,” Clint groaned, because no, mouth, that is  _ not _ something you say out loud. To Bucky. Ever.

 

Bucky’s eyes went wide, and then narrowed.

 

“Really.”

 

It wasn’t quite a question, but not really a statement either, and Clint didn’t think his brain could even begin to formulate a response anyway.

 

Especially when Bucky stood up from the couch and then leaned down over Clint and put his hands on Clint’s shoulders.

 

“Look, it’s a pretty shitty thing that Natasha forced me to act on my feelings for you by hiring me to strip for you. And if you want me to leave before this can get awkward, I will. But I can also stay and give you that fun time tonight.”

 

Clint swallowed hard and made himself breathe, because this close, Bucky smelled  _ amazing, _ and there was definitely glitter in his eyeshadow. 

 

And  _ Oh God, _ Bucky was dressed like this and wearing makeup because he was a  _ stripper _ .

 

“Or,” Bucky licked his lips and then bit his lower lip, holding it between his teeth long enough for Clint to watch the soft, slick flesh turn dark and full.

 

“Or?” he croaked.

 

“Or, if I’m not reading this really, horribly wrong, you might not want me to treat you like a client  _ or _ a colleague right now.”

 

Clint was oblivious to a lot of things. He was - he knew that about himself, and that was fine. But he wasn’t stupid - not about the things he cared about, and not, when it came down to it, about sex or innuendo.

 

And Bucky was, Clint was ninety-five percent certain, propositioning him.

 

Still, explicit verbal consent was a thing Clint kind of required.

 

“How do  _ you _ want to treat me?” Clint asked.

 

Bucky released his lower lip, and Clint had to curl his fingers into fists to keep himself from reaching out to soothe it.

 

“How’d Lance treat you?” Bucky answered the question with one of his own.

 

There was something in his eyes, a hint of mischief that made Clint suspect that Natasha might have been talking about him behind his back. And, well… nothing ventured, nothing gained.

 

“Depends on whether Lance was misbehaving or being a good boy.” Clint leaned back into the couch cushions, forcing Bucky to stretch with him if he wanted to keep his hands on Clint’s shoulders.

 

Bucky’s throat bobbed and a muscle in his cheek jumped, while his eyes went a little darker and his lips parted.

 

“Well?” Clint prompted when Bucky remained silent, still except for his soft breathing and his fingers curling into Clint’s shoulders.

 

Bucky licked his lips again.

 

“I could… I could be a good boy. For you.”

 

And fuck, but hearing those words from Bucky had been something Clint had fantasized about for the last four years, ever since Bucky had first walked into the teacher’s lounge and glared his way towards the coffee pot and then loudly proclaimed teenagers to be his actual, imminent cause of death.

 

“Think so?” Clint asked, feeling a thrill of arousal and excitement curl through him even as he relaxed into this, the feeling of being in control, the feeling of someone else  _ wanting _ him to be in control.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky insisted, even going so far as to nod.

 

“Mm. What kind of good boy do you want to be for me?” Clint asked.

 

Bucky frowned, hesitant and maybe a little confused.

 

“Gonna need you to tell me exactly what you want,” Clint clarified. “What you want to do? What do you want from me?”

 

“I- Fuck, Clint, I have no idea. Everything? Is everything an option? I’ve wanted to suck your dick since the moment I met you, and like, four years is a lot of time for me to come up with a lot of elaborate fantasies about you. And me. And being a good boy for you.”

 

And that… well… that was a pleasant surprise.

 

It wasn’t that Clint thought of himself as unattractive. Diet of pizza and coffee aside, he took care of himself and worked out, and he knew that he had a look - a scruffy, built, older guy look - that did things for some people. And sure, he had  _ hoped _ that Bucky was one of those people who liked older, buff men and wanted to be bossed around, but he had never actually assumed Bucky would be into that. 

 

That they had both spent the last four years cultivating fantasies starring each other was, really, exactly Clint’s typical luck. 

 

They could have spent the last four years  _ fucking _ , but no. 

 

It had taken Natasha hiring Bucky to strip for Clint.

 

He would have to send her an obnoxious bouquet of roses. Maybe a giant heart full of chocolates. Maybe cover her desk in confetti. Something. For next Valentine’s Day. 

 

Clint reached up and took hold of Bucky’s wrists. He kept his grip light, but maneuvered Bucky away until he was no longer leaning over Clint.

 

“Can’t be comfortable for you to be like that,” Clint said in response to Bucky’s confused look. “Why don’t you sit down.”

 

Bucky started towards Clint’s side and back to the couch, but Clint tugged him away and pointedly looked at the ground between his own spread legs.

 

Bucky swallowed hard, but immediately sank to his knees.

 

He was blushing again, and staring up at Clint with a look somewhere between embarrassment and arousal.

 

Which, Clint had to admit, was a very good look on him.

 

Clint put Bucky’s hands down, resting them on his sweatpants and running his own fingers very lightly over the backs of Bucky’s hands.

 

“So, everything sounds like a lot to work though for one night,” he said.

 

Bucky snorted.

 

“I’m gonna suggest how tonight can go, and you’re gonna tell me what sounds good and what doesn’t, okay?”

 

Bucky nodded, and Clint arched an eyebrow at him.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky rushed to say.

 

“Yeah?” Clint echoed. “Thought you wanted to be a good boy. Good boys know how to show at least a  _ little _ respect.”

 

Bucky’s body wavered, and he listed towards Clint’s right knee and actually leaned against it.

 

“Yes, sir?” he tried.

 

Clint liked sir, preferred it to  _ Daddy _ or  _ Master, _ or any of the other host of controlling, dominant titles his partners liked to give him. Whatever they wanted to call him was generally fine, but  _ sir _ was a personal favorite of Clint’s. Maybe it was some deep-seeded, perverse need to send a big ‘fuck you’ to the military school his third foster family had shipped him off to for a year, but  _ sir _ just really, really did it for Clint.

 

“Good boy.” Clint reached out and ran his right hand over Bucky’s cheek.

 

Bucky’s eyes slipped to half-mast, and he chased after the touch.

 

“You came here to strip for me, didn’t you?” Clint reminded Bucky.

 

Bucky nodded in agreement, eyes opening wider and focusing on Clint while he spoke.

 

“Then maybe you’d like to do that for me? Show me how good you are at that?”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed in a ragged voice. Clint gave him a look. 

 

“Yes, sir,” Bucky amended.

 

“Good,” Clint pet him again. “And if you’ve spent the last four years wanting to suck my dick, seems a shame to let another  _ day _ pass without you getting the chance to do that.”

 

“Fuck, yes, please. Sir.” Bucky’s fingers gripped Clint’s thighs through the sweatpants, and Clint smirked at him.

 

“Well, that sounds like the perfect way for a good boy to take care of  _ me _ tonight,” Clint mused. “And if you are a good boy, then I’ll have to give you a reward. Think of anything you might want?”

 

“Pretty sure getting to finally suck your dick is the best reward I could think of,” Bucky said, lips tilted in a lopsided grin.

 

“So selfless. You really are a good boy. You sure that’s all you want? I only want to give you what you want.”

 

Bucky seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, and his face turned steadily more red. Finally, he closed his eyes and spoke.

 

“This is so fucking embarrassing,” he muttered, more to himself than to Clint. “I, uh, I want you to tell me you’re proud of me? Tell me I’m good? I- Fuck,” he sighed, and opened his eyes again, but he didn’t meet Clint’s gaze. “I’ve heard the way you talk to your students, the ones who struggle? And you’re so  _ nice _ to them, and you just- When they manage to improve, you talk to them like they’ve mastered quantum mechanics, and it’s  _ stupid _ how much I want you to talk to me like that. I just- I want you to…”

 

Clint got it - got a couple of things out of that, actually. The first being that Bucky actually,  _ probably _ , wasn’t that experienced at this kind of… grown-up thing. The second being that he clearly had a major praise kink. And Clint was fine with that - he  _ loved _ that. But he also kinda wondered how Bucky would deal with being humiliated, wondered what Bucky would look like if Clint made him cry and beg and-

 

And that was definitely not on the table for tonight, maybe not ever. Hell, there might not  _ be _ another night after tonight.

 

Clint needed to focus. 

 

“I  _ am _ proud of you,” Clint assured Bucky. “So proud of you for telling me what you want from me. You even cited an example. You could have been  _ more _ specific in supporting your argument but-”

 

“Oh my  _ god, _ please do not turn this into a lecture on writing research papers,” Bucky groaned, but he looked amused and a little more at ease.

 

Clint grinned down at him.

 

“So, you want to strip for me, and you want to suck my dick, and you want me to tell you how good you are at those things, and how good you are for me,” he summarized.

 

Bucky nodded eagerly.

 

“If… if that’s what you want, sir,” Bucky said.

 

“I want what you want,” Clint shrugged, and then smirked. “I love giving my good boy what he wants.”

 

Bucky chewed on his lower lip.

 

“I really love sucking cock. I- I mean, I want you to fuck me, and hell, I want  _ everything _ . But tonight? Just that. That would be… yeah.”

 

“Good. That sounds really good, babe,” Clint assured him, and Bucky grinned up at him, looking very enthusiastic and earnest. “But first,” Clint continued when Bucky started to get to his feet. Bucky immediately settled back onto his knees. “First, we need to talk about safewords.”

 

“Oh. Yeah, of course.”

 

“Do you have something you want to use? Something you want to say if you’re uncomfortable and want to stop?”

 

Bucky licked his lips again.

 

“I… It was always kind of a joke, but me and- nevermind. Uh, Jersey? For stop?”

 

Clint wondered what Bucky had been about to say, but decided now was not the time.  _ So _ not the time.

 

“Good. Jersey for stop. What do you want to say when you need me to slow down or something feels off?”

 

“I have to have more than one?”

 

“Safeword _ s,  _ Bucky,” Clint repeated, emphasizing the plural. “Do I need to threaten you with a pop-quiz for you to pay better attention?”

 

Bucky rolled his eyes.

 

“Please, no. Sir,” he added with a smirk. “Uh, how about flamingo?”

 

“Jersey for stop and flamingo to slow down,” Clint summarized.

 

Bucky nodded in agreement.

 

“Good. And if you can’t speak - because maybe you’ve got my dick in your mouth, you hold up two fingers for stop and one for slow down. Okay?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“Good, Bucky. One more thing. We can use a traffic light system - red, yellow and green - for if something feels good or not good.  _ Or _ we can use numbers, one to ten. One if something isn’t enough, ten if something is too much.”

 

“Five if it’s just right?” Bucky guessed. “Like, I say ten if you’re complimenting me too much and one if you’re not doing it enough?”

 

Clint shrugged.

 

“In this context, yeah. In another context, say… me punishing you for being a sassy brat by putting you over my knee and spanking you, one would mean that I’m being too easy on you and not giving you what you really need. Eight would mean it’s almost too much. Understand?”

 

Bucky nodded, eyes very dark.

 

“Yeah, I, I get it. Sir.”

 

“Good. You’re a good boy, Bucky. Or, at least, you  _ want _ to be a good boy,” Clint amended, and Bucky blushed again. “Are you ready? Do you need anything?”

 

“No, I’m good. I, uh, well, there’s a  _ song _ I’m supposed to dance to. For you. That Natasha picked out of a whole playlist. But I can do something else or-”

 

Clint considered it. Knowing Natasha, it was going to be  _ awful _ . And Clint was willing to bet that however Bucky felt when stripping for strangers, it was not at all going to be how he felt stripping for Clint. Whatever torture Natasha had picked out was only going to make it worse.

 

“Use her stuff,” Clint decided. 

 

There was a reason, after all, that he and Natasha were friends to begin with.

 

Clint let go of Bucky, and the other man took that as permission to stand up and move away from the couch.

 

“Where do you want me?” Clint asked him.

 

Bucky frowned as he considered that, looking around the living room before finally dragging Clint’s heavy wooden desk chair to the center of the room.

 

“Here. Sir.”

 

Clint smirked, already attached to hearing Bucky call him that, and then rose from the couch and repositioned himself on the chair for Bucky.

 

Bucky, meanwhile, pulled his phone from his coat pocket and apparently cued up the song he would be using.

 

A very familiar beat filtered through the speakers as Bucky put the phone down on the arm of the couch.

 

_ Oh Fuck _ .

 

Clint was going to  _ murder _ Natasha.

 

Britney Spears’ ‘Baby One More Time’ was, she damn well knew, one of Clint’s all-time favorite songs. A fact which only she and maybe two other people in the entire  _ world _ knew.

 

Christ.

 

Clint’s plans for Natasha’s death were put on hold when Bucky immediately distracted him by straightening to his full height, looking confident and collected again for the first time in the last half-hour. He even smirked, that damn, sexy confident smirk that Clint loved so much.

 

Bucky ran his hands down the lapels of his suit coat, pushing it behind his hips and moving with the music in a way that was admirably sensuous. Especially when Bucky spread his legs and dragged his fingers down and then up his thighs while holding Clint’s gaze.

 

The dance - the… striptease, Clint supposed, was actually ridiculously hot. Clint had been to strip clubs before - featuring both female and male performers - for various events over the years, and while the experiences had ranged from horrifically uncomfortable to amusing to  _ fun _ , there was something to be said for having a professional strip for you as a prelude to sucking your dick.

 

Bucky’s moves were clearly practiced, and he was once again at ease in his own body, touching himself and peeling off layers of clothing with skill and finesse, all to the strains of Britney’s voice.

 

The coat went first, eased down Bucky’s broad shoulders and then dropped from his arms to the floor before Bucky moved closer to Clint, gaze downright predatory as he swayed closer and closer, until his hands were once again on Clint’s shoulders and he pushed between Clint’s legs to grind against Clint’s chest and drag his fingers through Clint’s hair.

 

“How am I doing?” Bucky asked, nose against Clint’s cheek and breath hot against his ear.

 

“Very good,” Clint assured him. “You’re gorgeous, Bucky.”

 

Bucky pulled back, smirking and blushing again, hands trailing over Clint’s chest and thighs as he stood up and then turned around to give Clint a view of his back and ass.

 

The black suit trousers really were stupidly tight, and Clint had maybe spent the last four years staring at Bucky’s ass. So it wasn’t like he was  _ unaware _ of how perfect Bucky’s ass looked in damn near anything, but these pants? Actually criminal. 

 

Bucky continued to sway as he touched himself, hands smoothing down his sides and then lower, until he squeezed his ass and somehow managed to pull the full cheeks apart just enough to make the cleft between them look  _ obscene _ in those pants.

 

“Fuck, Bucky,” Clint groaned. “You’re so hot. So sexy, babe. You’re doing such a good job. You’re such a good boy.”

 

The words earned him a pleased look over Bucky’s shoulder, and the sound of the buttons on the tight black shirt being worked free.

 

Clint watched Bucky work it open, watched him tug it free from his trousers, and then roll one shoulder free from the fabric and then the other.

 

The music switched to  _ another _ Britney Spears song - and Clint was definitely going to have words with Natasha - but Bucky kept moving seamlessly to the music. 

 

He turned, shirt wrapped around his elbows, and let Clint look his fill as he kept dancing and caressing himself.

 

“So pretty,” Clint said, eyes riveted to Bucky’s fingers playing with his own nipples, teasing them into hard, dark nubs until his whole upper chest was flushed. “God, look at you,” Clint breathed, still not entirely sure how he was lucky enough for this to actually be  _ happening _ .

 

“I like you looking at me,” Bucky snarked, and Clint gave him a look. “Sir.”

 

Clint snorted a laugh, and Bucky grinned.

 

He moved closer again, this time pushing Clint’s legs together and straddling his lap, rolling his hips rhythmically against Clint’s while staring at him and still squeezing his pecs and tweaking his nipples.

 

Bucky’s erection was unmistakable, even in the tight confines of his trousers, and Bucky made a breathy little sound as he rubbed against Clint.

 

“That for me?” Clint asked.

 

Bucky nodded eagerly.

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“You like doing this for me? You like me watching you strip?”

 

“Fuck, yes.”

 

“You’re doing so good for me. How are you feeling?”

 

“I- oh. Like the number thing?”

 

“Yeah, like the number thing.”

 

“A three, maybe?” Bucky paused and let his weight settle fully on Clint’s lap, and Clint- Clint had no complaints about that at  _ all _ . Especially not when Bucky wiggled a little, until he was pressed very firmly against Clint’s own erection.

 

“What do you want to make it better, babe?” Clint asked. “Want me to talk more?”

 

“I’d like it if you touched me.”

 

Clint raised his eyebrows.

 

“Is that allowed?”

 

Bucky bit his lower lip again, and Clint had always suspected Bucky knew how unfairly sexy the gesture was, but now he  _ knew _ that Bucky knew.

 

“For you, it is,” Bucky said.

 

“I see.” Clint reached out and  _ finally _ touched Bucky’s mouth. He rubbed his thumb against his lips, perversely hoping to smear Bucky’s lipstick at least a little bit. But Bucky’s lips remained stubbornly perfect. “Like that?”

 

“More,” Bucky breathed.

 

Clint curved his other hand around Bucky’s ass and used it to push Bucky’s pelvis down.

 

Bucky moaned.

 

“Like that?” Clint asked again.

 

“Yeah, just like that. That’s great.”

 

Bucky seemed in no hurry to move away. Seemed, in fact, perfectly content to just rut against Clint’s lap.

 

And while Clint didn’t mind that in  _ principle _ , it wasn’t how he wanted either of them to get off.

 

“You haven’t finished stripping for me,” Clint reminded Bucky, gently pinching Bucky’s left nipple to emphasize his words.

 

Bucky groaned, but danced his way back upright and finally pulled the shirt off his arms and dropped it onto the floor to join his coat.

 

“I could watch you do this all day,” Clint said as Bucky slowly moved to the music - now a Justin Timberlake song ( _ fuck off _ , Natasha) - while he popped the button on his trousers and then traced his hands over the bulge of his cock under the fabric.

 

“Wish I could do this for you all day,” Bucky replied. “The way you look at me is so fucking intense, Clint.”

 

“That’s because you’re so perfect, Bucky. Seriously, I’ve never seen anyone so gorgeous or met anyone as brilliant as you.”

 

Bucky was blushing again, but he kept dancing and finally unzipped his trousers. 

 

They started to slide down his narrow hips, revealing pale, smooth skin and-

 

“Oh,  _ Bucky _ ,” Clint groaned, and holy  _ fuck _ .

 

Bucky was not wearing anything under the trousers, and he was absolutely smooth, pubic hair shaved or waxed or  _ something, _ and his thighs looked just as hairless, and Clint  _ ached _ with the need to touch him.

 

“See something you like?” Bucky asked, lips curved and eyes twinkling. He moved closer to Clint, each step tugging his trousers lower and lower, until they caught on his cock.

 

Bucky climbed back into Clint’s lap, arms sliding around Clint’s shoulders, and Clint reflexively wrapped his arms around Bucky in return.

 

He mapped the lean muscles of Bucky’s back, and then eased his hands down, under the trousers, until he could palm Bucky’s ass and feel the firm, hot skin against him.

 

“Babe, did you forget underwear? Here I was thinking you were a good boy, but that seems very…  _ naughty _ .” 

 

“Didn’t forget them,” Bucky assured him, and then took Clint’s left hand and guided it towards his hip, until Clint’s fingers felt something like satin. “It’s a thong. Waistband has snaps on the side. I already undid them.”

 

“I see. Impatient?”

 

“There’s only one song left on this playlist,” Bucky shrugged. “And yeah, I kinda wanted to skip ahead to the part where I’m on my knees and you’re telling me how much you like my mouth around your cock.”

 

“That… isn’t the worst plan I’ve ever heard,” Clint had to agree.

 

He squeezed Bucky’s ass, and Bucky rocked against him, rolling and writhing in movements that looked less choreographed and more natural, more of a reaction to Clint than going through the motions of his job. Clint hoped so, anyway.

 

“You ready for the big finale?” Bucky asked with another smirk.

 

Clint arched up, let Bucky feel the drag of his cock.

 

“I sure am,” Clint said.

 

Bucky slowly, reluctantly, climbed off and stood back up. He did some kind of turn, slow and smooth, showing off his partially bare ass and his smooth groin, and the play of muscles in his arms and torso.

 

And then he reached down and  _ ripped _ his pants off.

 

Clint was equal parts horrified and amused and- Okay, and a third, bigger part turned on as all hell because Bucky was  _ naked, _ and fucking  _ hell, _ he was so, so, so much better than any of Clint’s fantasies.

 

“Your pants,” he said stupidly.

 

“Tearaway,” Bucky assured him.

 

“Thank god.”

 

“You… you were really worried that I ruined my pants.”

 

“I mean, I would have let you borrow some of mine, but those looked really nice.”

 

Bucky grinned and sauntered forward.

 

He picked up Clint’s hands and put them on his chest, guiding Clint’s hands over his own body.

 

“You’re ridiculous, Clint. Too good to be true.”

 

Bucky seemed entirely sincere, and despite the fact that he was maneuvering Clint’s hands down his hips and towards his cock, the look in his eyes was soft.

 

“So, was I good enough to suck your cock?” Bucky asked as he cupped Clint’s right hand around his balls and his left over his ass.

 

“You were amazing. You did so well,” Clint assured him. “I can’t wait to see how good you are at sucking cock, Bucky. You’re gonna make me so proud, aren’t you?”

 

Bucky made a noise and nodded.

 

“Yes, sir. Can I?”

 

“Can you what?” Clint asked, just to tease.

 

“Can I suck your cock now?”

 

“ _ Can _ you?”

 

“Hey, I’m the English teacher.”

 

“I know. That’s why I’m so disappointed in you.”

 

Bucky rolled his eyes.

 

“ _ May _ I suck your cock now?”

 

“Yeah, babe. I’m all yours.”

 

Bucky sank to his knees once again, the motion so quick and fluid that it took Clint’s breath away.

 

Together, they pulled Clint’s sweatpants down and then off, leaving Clint in only his t-shirt and Bucky still naked. Feeling a little weird about that, Clint went ahead and pulled the shirt off too, and tossed it aside.

 

Bucky’s eyes roamed over him.

 

“You’re so fucking hot, Clint. When you fell into the pool last year during the swim meet, you gave me jerkoff material for  _ months _ . But this… Fuck, Clint. How are your abs even real?”

 

As always, the compliments made Clint uncomfortable, made him all too aware of all of his flaws and- Seriously, how could Bucky think about that utter catastrophe of Clint tripping over a towel and  _ falling into the pool during a swim meet _ as anything other than horrific.

 

“From where  _ I’m _ sitting, you’re the hot one,” Clint said to shift the attention away from himself. He cupped Bucky’s face in his hands and tangled his fingers in his hair. “You wanna keep being my good boy?”

 

“Yeah. Yes, sir.” Bucky took the hint and moved forward, ducking his head, and Clint moved his right hand to Bucky’s shoulder but kept his left in Bucky’s hair.

 

Bucky’s lips were soft, smooth and light as he pressed teasing kisses over Clint’s cock. He started with the head, already slick with precome, and then kissed his way down the thick shaft, nuzzling against Clint and then kissing his way down to Clint’s balls before retracing his path.

 

“You’ve got a gorgeous cock,” Bucky murmured.

 

“You’ve got a gorgeous mouth.”

 

Bucky held Clint’s gaze as he parted his lips and swept his tongue over the head of Clint’s cock and then slid it down the underside. He looked delighted when Clint shivered.

 

“You’re so good, baby,” Clint said. “I’ve wanted those pretty lips on me for so long, Bucky. God, look at you on your knees for me. I-”

 

Bucky used one hand to guide Clint’s cock into his mouth, his grip confident and his eyes hungry.

 

Clint groaned as Bucky eased him between his lips and into the wet, velvet heat of his mouth.

 

“Oh, Bucky,  _ fuck _ , Bucky. Your mouth is incredible.”

 

Bucky slowly, teasingly, swallowed more and more of Clint’s cock, until there was only an inch or so between his lips and Clint’s groin.

 

“Oh, you’re doing so great,” Clint groaned. “Think you can take the rest? Or is that all you want, baby?”

 

He felt Bucky swallow, or try to, around him, and Clint clenched his ass and sucked in a breath and forced himself to stay still. He should have asked if Bucky liked having his face fucked, but he hadn’t, and he wasn’t about to find out the answer to that question by just going for it.

 

Bucky’s eyes slipped closed and he pushed himself farther down, taking all of Clint.

 

“Oh God, baby. You’re so good. Such a good boy. Look at you, mouth full of my cock. You’re perfect, Bucky. So perfect.”

 

Bucky’s fingers dug into Clint’s thighs and, eyes still closed, he eased back and then plunged forward again, seeming intent to choke himself on Clint’s cock, and Clint- Clint had  _ zero _ complaints about that.

 

“Yeah, baby, just like that,” he encouraged. “You like that? You enjoying my cock?”

 

Bucky hummed his response, the sensation buzzing along Clint’s sensitive flesh.

 

“Mm, do that again, Bucky.”

 

He did, and Clint tightened his grip in Bucky’s hair.

 

“Good boy, doing what I tell you to do, sucking my cock so good.”

 

He let Bucky continue like that, humming and sucking and drooling on his cock while Clint kept a firm grip on his head and heaped praise on him.

 

It felt good. It wasn’t enough movement or quite the right amount of pressure for Clint to get off, but it felt good, and he was enough of a sadist to want Bucky to wear himself out a little before Clint  _ really _ made him work for it.

 

“Sit back, babe,” Clint said, and guided Bucky off of his cock.

 

Bucky let him go with a wet gasp, chin and cheeks wet and eyes bright with tears.

 

Clint wiped at Bucky’s chin with his thumb, and then pressed it into Bucky’s mouth. Bucky obligingly sucked on his thumb. 

 

“I’m gonna stand up now, babe, and you’re going to suck me until I come, okay? You’re gonna use that pretty mouth to get me off, and you’re going to use this hand,” he picked up Bucky’s left hand, “here.” He moved Bucky’s hand to his balls. “Okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky had to clear his throat. “Yes, sir.

 

“Do you want me to come in your mouth or on your face, Bucky? Or neither?”

 

Bucky huffed a laugh.

 

“You’re the first guy to ever actually  _ ask _ . Everyone else just assumes I’ll shove their dick out of my mouth if I don’t want it.”

 

“I don’t like to assume things,” Clint said.

 

Bucky flashed his dimpled grin.

 

“Yeah, I like that about you. I’d rather you didn’t come on my face. Sometimes I break out.”

 

_ Oh, to be in my twenties again _ , Clint couldn’t help but think. Still, he nodded in agreement.

 

“You can come in my mouth,” Bucky decided.

 

“If you change your mind, hold up three fingers. Or shove my dick out of your mouth,” Clint added with a smirk.

 

Bucky rolled his eyes.

 

“Anything you want me to do?” Clint asked as he stood up. “Or not do?”

 

Bucky licked his lips.

 

“You could…” Bucky touched Clint’s hand in his hair. “You could pull my hair, if you wanted. And you could move me - my head.”

 

“Are you asking me to fuck your face, good boy?”

 

Bucky sucked in a breath, blushed, and nodded.

 

“Please?”

 

“When you ask so nicely, how can I say no?” Clint asked. “But if you change your mind-”

 

“One finger to stop, two to slow down. Three to not come in my mouth. Did I pass the quiz?”

 

“You’re so fucking bratty,” Clint groused.

 

“Not when your dick is in my mouth,” Bucky pointed out.

 

“Hm. You might be onto something there. Open up for me, babe.” 

 

Clint used his free hand to push Bucky’s mouth open, and then to guide his cock back to Bucky’s lips. 

 

He fed Bucky his cock, taking his time, watching Bucky’s cheeks bulge and his throat work.

 

“Doing so good,” Clint murmured. “Look so good with me filling you up, Bucky.”

 

Tentatively, Clint used his grip on Bucky’s hair to force Bucky to swallow more of him.

 

Bucky moaned, eyes slipping closed and jaw dropping to accommodate the angle and Clint’s cock.

 

“There you go, babe. So good. Just like that.”

 

Clint gave a gentle roll of his hips, and Bucky’s right hand clutched at him. 

 

“What are you supposed to be doing with your left hand, babe?”

 

Bucky quickly obeyed the prompt, reaching out to fondle Clint’s balls, his touch gentle.

 

“Little harder, babe. Not too hard, but- just like that. Good, Bucky. Good job.”

 

Clint thrust into Bucky’s mouth again, a little deeper, until Bucky groaned and nearly choked again. He pulled out almost all the way, let Bucky suck in a deep breath, and then pushed in again.

 

Bucky kept his eyes closed, but his lashes were nearly as wet as his cheeks and chin, and he kept humming and moaning around Clint’s cock, kept playing with his balls and doing everything just right.

 

“You okay, Bucky?” Clint asked after he had set an erratic rhythm, alternating deep thrusts with shallow ones.

 

Bucky opened his eyes, tried to speak around Clint’s cock, groaned in frustration, and then used his right hand to form the  _ OK _ sign.

 

“Good boy. So clever,” Clint praised him. “You’re being so good for me, treating my cock so good, Bucky.”

 

Clint could feel his orgasm approaching, heat climbing his spine and filling his gut, and then Bucky’s fingers shifted slightly, purposefully, until he was stroking Clint’s perineum as well.

 

Clint groaned.

 

“ _ Such  _ a good boy, Bucky. You ready for me to come? You still want me to come in your mouth?”

 

Bucky gave the  _ OK _ sign again, and Clint moved his other hand to Bucky’s head as well. If Bucky wanted to push him away, he would still let him, but there was something about holding Bucky’s head and fucking into his mouth that fulfilled all of the filthy, primal urges inside of Clint.

 

“Gonna come for you, baby,” Clint said, thrusting deeper, sucking in a breath and-

 

Bucky hummed, hollowing his cheeks and  _ sucking, _ and Clint came with a shocked cry.

 

“Ah -  _ fuck _ ! Oh, baby, oh- Fuck!”

 

Bucky sucked and swallowed, even as Clint’s hips stuttered. It felt like Clint’s entire world shrank down to the heat and pressure of Bucky’s mouth, the floating bliss of orgasm and the silky softness of Bucky’s hair between his fingers.

 

Eventually, oxygen,  _ breathing _ , became a thing Clint remembered he needed.

 

He sucked in a deep breath and slowly, reluctantly, eased his spent cock from Bucky’s mouth.

 

Bucky huffed in irritation, then coughed, and Clint had to laugh.

 

“God, that was good,” he groaned, and then sank down to the floor beside Bucky. He pulled Bucky against him, tangling their legs together and wrapping his arms around Bucky’s back. “Such a good boy. I’m so proud of you, Bucky. Did such a great job.”

 

Bucky opened his eyes and blinked at him, looking a little out of it.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” Clint assured him.

 

He hesitated, but then leaned down and pressed his lips to Bucky’s.

 

Bucky kissed him back - slowly at first, a little absentmindedly, but then with more purpose, until his tongue was pushing into Clint’s mouth and Clint could taste himself.

 

Suddenly, Bucky pulled away from the kiss. 

 

The expression on his face was startlingly clear, and very alarmed.

 

“Bucky?”

 

“I just realized. We’re a goddamn fucking cliche,” Bucky groaned.

 

Clint raised his eyebrows.

 

“Older guy and hot young guy who wants to be bossed around despite actually be a sassy little shit?”

 

Bucky glared at him.

 

“Not that, actually. I meant the whole bullshit first kiss on Valentine’s Day. We’re practically a fucking Hallmark card now.”

 

Clint snorted in amusement.

 

He pressed another kiss to Bucky’s lips, and then snickered as an idea came to him.

 

“Happy Valentine’s Day. Hope you choke on my cock. Think it’d have a pop-up dick, or is that too much?”

 

“I hate you,” Bucky groused.

 

“So, that means you  _ don’t _ want me to do anything about this?” Clint asked, and reached down to wrap his hand around Bucky’s still hard, very much neglected cock.

 

“I don’t hate you  _ that _ much,” Bucky was quick to say.

 

“Good,” Clint kissed him again. “Because I don’t hate you at all.”

 

“Stop making this  _ sappy _ ,” Bucky groaned. “Go back to bossing me around and calling me a good boy.”

 

“Maybe I would if you  _ acted _ like one,” Clint said, keeping his voice mild but giving Bucky a look.

 

“Maybe I’m angling to be put over your knee and spanked?” Bucky suggested.

 

Clint grinned.

 

“Happy Valentine’s Day. I’m gonna spank your ass until you’ve got a heart-shaped bruise.”

 

Bucky looked like he was struggling, torn between hating the continued reference to Valentine’s Day but very excited at the prospect of the spanking.

 

Finally, he sighed and looked up at Clint.

 

“Please, sir?”

 

-o-

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> \----  
> \----
> 
> Just wanted to write something filthy and I dunno... here she is.


End file.
